


Cold

by PaperSynth



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 04:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperSynth/pseuds/PaperSynth
Summary: A hitman in the cold of the night





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Hihi its a very short story I wrote during my portfolio application process for college and I dug it up recently and I should archive it somewhere OOF. Enjoy!

Cold.

The weather wasn’t particularly pleasant that evening. It wasn’t freezing, no, but chilly was the word that best described it. It rained too, damned weatherman fooled me with that corporate dentist approved smile of his and his ironed and pressed blue suit. Coming out here wasn’t how I wanted to spend new years but, the festivities would have to wait. Timing is everything and on the day where security is dead focused on drunk frat boys by the bay, there couldn’t have been a more perfect night.  
He was sitting in his recliner, wearing what looked to be a pretty itchy sweater. Even from 2500 feet I could see the cheap hairs sticking out from his collar. He was pale-skinned, with thick brown eyebrows but no hair to match. The glow of the television just faintly reflected on his skin and from the greens and small details I could barely see, he was watching a baseball match. He sat there, hands greedily supporting the slice of pizza that dribbled grease on his cheeks. That sweater was better off a bib.

He didn’t see it coming, he couldn’t have. If anyone had the intention to look, all they would see was a flicker of light. Metal sparking against metal. The bullet zoomed quickly, whizzing through the air with no concern for air resistance. His oil slicked hands lost all their strength and dropped the half eaten slice of pepperoni pizza, till it met with a little bit more “condiment” on the ceramic floor. The shell only pierced the glass and only left a hairline crack as a form of a souvenir. It was easy to get rid of targets this rich and privileged. They had a knack for living in high storey buildings. Perches are more difficult down low, especially in the suburbs, as if shooting someone would just ricochet throughout the entire cul-de-sac.

I craned my neck in pain, it’s too early to be getting old for this. Maybe I’m tiring myself out taking up so many jobs. It isn’t all chump change either, 10k per kill is a lot for a meagre nineteen year old. Especially since in Los Angeles, we have all sorts of high profile targets on the loose. Celebrities to mob bosses, I guess we all hate each other one way or another. Money is how I operate and it stays that way. We grow up being taught that somewhere deep inside, we got a real passion or skill in something. To some its art, to others its science, but my last visit to the optometrist said that I might have 20/20 vision. So, either I was to be a fortune-teller with doctor approved foresight, or an impeccable aim might be all I need to make a decent living for myself.

It was cold. But the gun stays ever so warm.


End file.
